


House of Memories

by mediocrityatbest



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Bad coping mechanisms, Gen, M/M, Other, mentions toxic households, this is a break up fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocrityatbest/pseuds/mediocrityatbest
Summary: Twelve years. Twelve years of his life that he had spent in love and loving it, twelve years he had spent making plans and working toward a future for them to have, twelve years that ache, twelve years that burn to think about, twelve years that blind him to everything else.He’s never felt so distinctly without himself. He has never been the kind of person who staked everything he was on someone else, but at this very moment, sitting in his new apartment filled with boxes that only contain his stuff, Virgil is hard pressed to find himself in any of it. Where did he go? How do you lose yourself?Or:Virgil and Janus break up. Virgil feels afloat, with nothing tethering him to who he is or who he was. He's not sure where to start.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	House of Memories

**Author's Note:**

> The song is House of Memories by Panic! at the Disco.

_ If you’re a lover, you should know the lonely moments just get lonelier _

_ The longer you’re in love than if you were alone _

_ Memories turn into daydreams, become a taboo _

Virgil stares at the wall but he doesn’t really see much of anything.

Twelve years. Twelve years of his life that he had spent in love and loving it, twelve years he had spent making plans and working toward a future for them to have, twelve years that ache, twelve years that burn to think about, twelve years that blind him to everything else.

He’s never felt so distinctly without himself. He has never been the kind of person who staked everything he was on someone else, but at this very moment, sitting in his new apartment filled with boxes that only contain  _ his stuff _ , Virgil is hard pressed to find himself in any of it. Where did he go? How do you lose yourself?

How do you lose twelve years of love and trust in the blink of an eye? What did he do wrong? Where did they fall apart, fall away from each other? Where did all their love go? If he had been more interested in Janus’ passions, if Janus came home earlier, if they spent more time together, could things have been different? Were they always destined to leave each other this fucking broken?

He shouldn’t even be thinking about that. It won’t help anything.

_ I don’t want to be afraid, the deeper I go _

_ It takes my breath away- _

He can remember, though, every little piece of them. He can remember the ways that they were both so scared of falling in love, of loving someone so much they’d give themselves up. The longer they were together, the worse it got, but the better, too.

Janus and him were two sides of the same coin. They understood each other better than anyone else ever had and that was half the fear. Janus knew every bit of Virgil, understood exactly where he was coming from and why, and he could choose to use that information at any moment to hurt Virgil in a way he would not come back from.

But information like that is a two-way street.

Janus trusted him, so unbelievably much, and Virgil had loved and trusted him just the same. He can remember the day he realized it, the first day that he understood what was happening between them was not something that would just fade away with time.

Janus had brought him a flower, and to most that wouldn’t have meant much. But it was the world to Virgil. He had told Janus that he always loved flowers but had never been able to keep any alive, told Janus that flowers reminded him of the people he loved who weren’t around anymore, told Janus that he hated to see flowers stepped on and destroyed because they were so beautiful and so important.

And Janus had brought him one, a purple hyacinth in a pot, and even instructions on how to keep it living. He’d promised they’d take care of the flower together, watch it blossom, and Virgil had never loved anyone more.

_ -soft hearts, electric souls _

_ Heart to heart and eyes to eyes, is this taboo? _

Janus had been amazing, the best person Virgil ever met. It was no wonder that all the things they did together made Virgil find himself deeper and deeper in a hole he couldn’t entirely say he wanted out of.

Janus was, underneath all those protective layers he wore like the most fashionable sweater to ever grace humankind, a giant softie. He loved little animals (it was the reason Virgil had bought him a bunny for their fifth anniversary) and soft music and lilting words. It was a perfect match to Virgil’s closeted love for pretty flowers and baking sweets and peaceful walks.

Even the less happy parts of themselves went together like butter and toast. They could riff off each others’ harsher remarks for days and they were never afraid to say what they thought. (It was a problem, sometimes, being so open. It was so easy to accidentally misuse.)

They would fight with each other, but they would also fight for each other, and with much less provocation. Virgil protected every piece of Janus he knew, and all the ones that would never be his. He didn’t mind secrets; he just minded that Janus was happy and safe. It was a sentiment they both shared.

But when you can see so many parts of someone else and bare just as many parts of yourself to them, things are bound to get messy. When broken people come together, it makes sense that they’ll both leave more broken than before.

Were things supposed to end like this?

_ Baby, we built this house on memories _

_ Take my picture, shake it till you see it _

_ And when your fantasies become your legacy _

_ Promise me a place, in your house of memories _

They bonded, though, over something that Virgil thinks may have been their downfall. The abuse they endured, the yelling and hitting and fighting. Neither one of them had ever known peace in their lives until each other.

Had they latched onto that prematurely?

Virgil before he met Janus was like a snapshot of something nobody wanted to see. He was angry, so  _ fucking _ angry all the time, and he fought anyone who looked at him, reason or not. He was a monster made from all the bad things that had happened to him, a mess of a person trying to find something that wouldn’t hurt.

Janus was the same, and somehow, that meant safety. It pissed Virgil off, at first, but every rage-fuelled decision he made was met with cold, steely resolve and just as much anger. Janus wouldn’t have let him burn the world down no matter how much he wanted to, and Virgil returned the favor. He was just trying to piss Janus off. It ended up saving them both.

Virgil wonders if Janus still remembers that kid he met, with the spiky hair and rings and anger. The kid who tried to drown them both just because there was so much air around him he didn’t know what to do with it. He wonders if Jansu can forgive that kid, forgive the man he became, once the dust settles. He hopes Janus won’t forget, won’t hang that person out to dry like he was useless.

Once, Virgil would have thought he deserved nothing less. In the time between, Janus has made him realize he deserves a whole hell of a lot more. And no matter what else happens, Janus did love him. He loved Janus. That’s something that shouldn’t be forgotten.

_ I think of you from time to time, more than I thought I would _

_ You were just too kind and I was too young to know _

_ That’s all that really matters, I was a fool _

They were so young when they met, not-quite twenty but every bit the eighty-year-old war veterans Virgil still feels like on the bad days. He remembers how bright they used to be, though, like the angler fish, that light was just costumed anger that lured people in.

Janus saw through it. Virgil did too. And it was so strange, to be seen. It was odd that someone could see through those layers of anger and hate and pain and look at Virgil, stripped down to nothing but the fear, and stick around. It was alien that Virgil would ever do the same.

And yet.

Virgil couldn’t keep Janus off his mind, not when he hated him, not when they were friends, not when they were together. Janus has always been there, a little niggling thought at the back of Virgil’s head, somehow always the one urging him to think before he acted, telling him off for acting like a moron.

The voice ordering him to get better. The only one he listened to.

No matter what else, Virgil knew it was love. He loved Janus, he’ll probably never completely stop loving Janus. He can’t just get rid of twelve years of relearning intimacy, all the years before that of relearning trust and love. He’ll always be thankful to Janus for sticking around when he was so stupid and hurt, for helping him along, for letting Virgil help Janus, too, because he was just as hurt as Virgil was.

Virgil supposes that they were so young, then. It was the first personal relationship he had ever made that he didn’t destroy immediately. It was the first relationship he had that didn’t hurt him like he expected it to. It was the first time ever, for both of them, that everything that went wrong didn’t feel like the end of the world.

They were young and inexperienced. They dived in headfirst without knowing how deep the water could be. Things started like that generally don’t pan out.

Virgil presses his fists into his eyes. Maybe they were both so starved for anything good that they took the first thing that came along and refused to let go. Maybe this has been a long time coming.

_ Those thoughts of past lovers _

_ They’ll always haunt me _

_ I wish I could believe _

_ You’d never wrong me _

Of course, Janus wasn’t his first relationship. The first had been younger, angrier, brasher. Virgil was hurting and the person he was with was too. They took it out on each other and called it happy.

It was a lie they were both deciding to believe. It was the same lie that Virgil was afraid would come back years later to bite him in the ass. It was the same lie that he though Janus might try to sell. It was the same lie he would have bought even though he knew better.

It took so long, three years, in fact, for Virgil to really truly believe that Janus wasn’t going to turn on him any second. It was the flower, the hyacinth, the reason their kitchen sill ended up looking like a bush filled with flowers.

It took Janus shoving one of his own vulnerabilities in his face and saying,  _ I love you _ .

But neither of them ever really learned how romantic relationships worked, how the two came together to make something stronger. Any encounter they had before each other was just one bad experience after another.

And they were both so scared of this turning out that same way.

_ Then will you remember _

_ Me in the same way as I remember you _

It hadn’t, but there’s some part of Virgil that wishes it had ended sooner. Less memory traps, less things to make him think about the falling in love. (Flowers, cakes, bunnies, Hozier.) Less things to remind him of the being in love. (Concerts, soft pictures, scary movies, cuddling.) Less things to remind him of the falling out of love. (Working late, making plans without each other, pretending to sleep, being so uninterested.)

People always told Virgil that being in love was one of the most amazing feelings, that getting there felt like falling. No one ever told him that you also fell out of love, that falling out was just the end of the hole, when your body met the bottom and you realized something was wrong.

They felt so similar. It was no wonder neither of them had seen this coming.

He prefers to remember the parts where Janus told him he loved him, where Virgil felt like the sun was exploding inside of him in the best way possible.

But he knows it would be a disservice to them both to pretend the fights didn’t happen, to ignore how much they worked through together and how strong they had to be to make it. It wouldn’t be truthful to not remember the bad times, when they fractured and then patched themselves up with gold. It would erase so much that has so centrally made Virgil the person he is.

He hopes Janus can look at those golden cracks and remember that it wasn’t all good or bad. Things rarely are.

_ In your house of memories _

_ Promise me a place _

Virgil is shaking when he picks up the phone and calls a number.

“Hey, gurl. What’s up?” Remy answers on the first ring.

“Janus and I broke up. Come over?”

“Holy fucking shit, you give me ten minutes. I’ll be there with ice cream.” Remy hangs up and Virgil texts them the address of his new apartment. The one he’ll be living in that has no traces of Janus in it. He can barely remember a time when he lived in a world that didn’t have Janus in it. He doesn’t know how to navigate the waters.

Probably he should start with unpacking. So Virgil picks a box.


End file.
